On Writing, And Saying Thanks

Lorne Rubenstein

Lorne Rubenstein

And now for something a bit different. Over the years I’ve been invited frequently to talk about influences on my writing, and what it’s been like to cover the game over the last 40 years. It’s been a satisfying career and I’ve made friends wherever people play the game — and they play it almost everywhere. Golf has been a passport to the world for me. I have no idea what I’d have done if I hadn’t become a golf writer. I still have a couple of fingers in the writing game now, although by no means am I as involved as I was for all those years.

But here I am, still writing for SCOREGolf, which I edited when it started in 1980. It’s been quite a ride while writing for SCOREGolf and for The Globe and Mail, where my columns ran through 2013. Then there were all the other magazines where I pitched ideas to editors, and for which I wrote. I still love to write and I enjoy reading about the game.

So it is that I’m posting the text of a speech I gave on the Wednesday night before the first round of the Masters two weeks ago during the annual Golf Writers Association of America dinner. I was presented with the PGA of America’s Lifetime Award in Journalism that evening. It was a memorable evening that provided an opportunity for me to look back at my career and at golf writing then and now. Many people have asked what I had to say, so I thought I’d include my remarks here. I ad-libbed while speaking, but what follows is essentially what I said.

I want to add a thank you to my readers. I hear from many of you, and I am grateful for your continuing interest in my work. Now then, my remarks from April 4th in Augusta, Ga., on the eve of the Masters.

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Imagine that it’s 15 years ago, early evening on Sunday at the Masters. Mike Weir is standing over a seven-foot par putt to get into a playoff against Len Mattiace, who has finished his round. I’ve been following Weir and have scrambled up to the top row of the stand reserved for media to the left of the 18th green. I’m working on a book about Weir and am furiously writing in my notebook. Weir makes the putt and goes on to win. I’m evidently in some sort of fugue stage, because Rick Reilly, sitting in the middle of the row, lets me have it, but in good humour (I think): “Rubenstein, are you going to write your whole book right now? Move, we need to get down.” Nobody can move from that top row unless I do. I move.

That was a long time ago, when I was already into the back nine of my career. I’m around the 16th hole now. To quote a fellow who included some golf references in a few songs — and Ron Sirak will be familiar with him because I’m referring to Bob Dylan — “the only thing I knew how to do was to keep on keepin’ on.” That’s from Dylan’s song Tangled Up in Blue. I’ve been tangled up in golf for more than 50 years, beginning when I hit chip shots from the grassed-over top of a septic tank at home in Toronto. Tonight’s recognition has provided an opportunity for me to consider how I got from that grassy knoll of a homemade tee to here.

A few factors above all were significant.

One: My being Canadian. This helped me view golf as a global game, which it was even in the 1960s and ’70s, with players such as Bob Charles, Gary Player, Peter Thomson, Tony Jacklin, and Canadians George Knudson, Al Balding, Sandra Post and Marlene Streit.

Two: I’ve always been a freelancer. The landscape available to a freelance golf writer was immense for much of my career: Golf Digest, Golf Magazine, the USGA’s Golf Journal, Golf World, Links, GolfWeek, Golf Monthly in the U.K. General interest magazines such as Esquire and Toronto Life welcomed golf stories. It helped that I had two foundational associations that started in 1980: a regular column in The Globe and Mail, Canada’s national newspaper, and SCOREGolf, Canada’s national magazine.

Three: My absorption in what made the best players, well, the best. The golf swing itself intrigued me and I read far too much about it for the good of my own game. But I wouldn’t have had it any other way. I was afforded a front row seat to studying the game closely. Players often allowed me to walk with them during practice rounds, and to fill my notebooks. It was as if I were sitting in on a concert rehearsal with accomplished musicians, visit the site here for Free PDF Editor Online – Best Software to Edit PDF Files.

Four: Caddying. I caddied a few times a year on the PGA Tour from 1970 to 1982, first for Bob Dickson, who had turned pro after winning the 1967 U.S. and British Amateurs, and then for Jim Nelford, the Canadian who had won the 1975 and 1976 Canadian Amateurs and the 1977 Western Amateur before turning pro. Dickson invited me to dinners with Dave Stockton and Ed Sneed. I was being provided an education in golf with tour players and their games as my teachers.

Five: Meeting Moe Norman, the Canadian golfer who played in a highly idiosyncratic way. He swung the club with his legs so far apart it seemed he would split his pants, and his arms were similarly outstretched. He often repeated everything twice. “The ball fits the Moe Norman way. The ball fits the Moe Norman way.” Tiger Woods told Jaime Diaz that only two players “owned” their swings — Ben Hogan and Moe. I met Moe at a Toronto driving range when I was 13. I asked my father who the fellow hitting balls one after the other without stopping was. He told me that was Moe, and that it was important to try to understand him. Reflexively, many people laughed at Moe rather than trying to understand him. I got the message that golf was a game for individuals of all personality types. I’m not sure I would have gone on to view the game from as much of a psychological vantage point had I not met Moe and had my father, who played some professional football in Canada, not imparted that lesson to me. In the mysterious way of the world, who knew that I would write many articles about Moe, participate in a documentary about him, and write a book about him?

Those significant elements grounded me as a golf writer. I started reflecting on these key factors after Paul Levy called me last November to inform me that the selection committee had made me the award recipient. My wife Nell — and thank you Nell for being you and for being my first reader and steadying influence and critic, in the best sense of the word — was driving when Paul called. Otherwise I might have lost control of the car, as we made our way with two of our grandsons up the 101 north of Palo Alto where they live, to visit the Point Reyes Lighthouse. Eight-year-old Myer and five-year-old Dennis overheard my part of the conversation with Paul, and asked for details.

“Wow, you’re going to be very famous now,” Dennis said after I explained the call. If your grandson says that to you, I suppose you’ve done okay. Nell and I came down yesterday from New York, where Dennis and Myer joined us, as did seven-year-old Dahlia and her four-year-old brother Emile, who live there. Our foursome of grandchildren was excited about the honour I’m receiving tonight.

Now my objective has always been to tell a story, and to be fair. A Canadian writer named Allen Abel told me years ago that a writer needs to look in the mirror and ask, “Were you fair to your subject?” I’ve tried to be fair, to tell stories, and to appreciate that golf is as much a participant as a spectator sport.

Compelling stories can present themselves everywhere. Golf is all about stories, isn’t it? That’s why we are here — because of all the engrossing stories my fellow writers have discovered and reported and for which some have been honoured tonight. Somebody once told me that if there are 156 players in a tournament, there are 156 stories.

I first read stories from Herbert Warren Wind in The New Yorker, Dan Jenkins in Sports Illustrated, and British writers Henry Longhurst, Pat Ward-Thomas and Peter Dobereiner. I collected the digest-size issues of, well, Golf Digest and Golf Monthly in the U.K.

One summer in the late ‘70s I learned that Ward-Thomas and Dobereiner would be attending the Canadian Open at Glen Abbey. I contacted them to ask if I could meet them. They agreed, and we met at the course, where we talked about golf and writing. A world of possibilities was opening itself to me. I also record my thanks to Dan Jenkins. I asked him during the ’86 PGA Championship at Inverness if we could chat, and we did, for 90 minutes. I appreciated your willingness to spend some time with me then, Dan.

It’s been a long, global trip since then. I thank Cec Jennings, the sports editor at The Globe and Mail in 1980 when I approached him with the idea of writing columns from the Canadian Open at Royal Montreal that summer, where I would caddie for Jim Nelford. Cec agreed. Nelford shot 68-70 the first two rounds and was in the last group in the third round with Jack Nicklaus and Lee Trevino. He fell back on the weekend but it was quite a week anyway to write a golf column from the perspective of a caddie for our national paper. After returning from Montreal, I suggested a weekly column on all aspects of the game to Cec. He said sure, go ahead.

The column ran for 33 years. Meanwhile, I was writing for magazines — “longform” is the term now — and books — really longform. Books with players and instructors, personal books, and there was also work in television and later, radio. A publisher provided enough of an advance to enable Nell and me to spend a summer in Dornoch in the Scottish Highlands and to write about our time there. Some readers think the book I wrote with Nell’s help and guidance is as much about single-malt whisky, the dramatic Highlands geography and the Highlands Clearances as it is about golf. That’s fine with me. Golf touches on so many areas of life. It’s a “big” game.

Marlene Streit, the Canadian who has won everything in amateur golf, has often helped me see just how “big” a game golf is. Her life in golf is an expression of its reach. Meanwhile, Marlene has been telling me for 40 years to stop getting all fouled up in the mechanics of the swing, as Gene Sarazen said about a golfer’s tendency to get confused. “SRB,” she preaches. “Smoothness, rhythm and balance.” She’s a member of the World Golf Hall of Fame and at 85 still plays beautifully.

I doubt I achieved smoothness, rhythm and balance in my own swing for any length of time, but I hope I’ve done so in my writing, at least some of the time. It’s been a privilege to talk golf with Tom Watson, Nicklaus, Annika, Knudson, Weir and Nick Price and to write about them and many others. Two years ago I watched video of the 1997 Masters with Tiger Woods as we worked on his memoir of his first major championship victory, and listened as he examined details of his shots and decisions. I had learned so much working with Knudson and Price on their books, and then, in the sunset of my career, Tiger.

Now, here we are, on the eve of the 2018 Masters. Rory, DJ, Justin Thomas, Jordan Spieth, Jon Rahm — so many gifted young players. Phil Mickelson and Tiger, 20 years and more older. They’re still keepin’ on keepin’ on. You’ll be writing about this Masters, a tournament that always promises and delivers so much. I’ll be home by tomorrow night, reading your work.

Journalists work in a challenging environment today. The landscape has changed, fiercely. I began in print and transitioned, not always comfortably, to the digital-dominated world. It’s harder for young journalists to make a living today. The emphasis on the latest controversy and on hot takes can lead us to relinquish golf’s rich past, and, therefore, perspective and context. I hope writers, readers and publishers will still see the value of the longer, reflective view.

Opportunities do still exist for the enterprising and creative journalist, and the landscape is hardly fixed. What shape will it take? How will it continue to shift? I admire all who are making their way in today’s shape-shifting environment. Print might no longer be king, but content will always matter. It finds homes in the more limited print environment, and also in podcasts, new publications that are as much books as magazines — bookazines, I’ve heard them called — websites, digital-only publications, and, yes, even Twitter.

I mentioned that my dad played some pro football in Canada. He did it all: quarterback, halfback, field-goal kicker, and using the drop kick at that. We used to throw the ball around on the road in front of our home. He led me with his passes, and liked to say, “If you can touch it you can catch it.” Reach, he encouraged, and keep reaching. After he died suddenly in 1989, I learned he was carrying a column of mine in his pocket.

I’m grateful to the editors who have encouraged and published me: Jerry Tarde, Jaime Diaz, Bill Fields, Bob Weeks, Colin Callander, George Peper — and many others. And thank you to the PGA of America and the selection committee for bestowing this high honour upon me. I am moved by this recognition of my work, and I appreciate it deeply.

Congratulations Lorne, wonderful speech that reflects on your outstanding career! I still can remember reading your column in the Globe and Mail and looking forward to it with great anticipation. Still enjoying your unique understanding and writing (in electronic format) thru Scoregolf. Keep it up!